Trepidation & Camaraderie
by of-convoluted-disillusion
Summary: "They say the eyes are like windows to the soul." Cas smiles faintly because for whatever reason the words have always made him think of Sam. Long one-shot, mostly central to Sam and Cas' friendship, but with background Dean/Cas.


**hey everyone! This one's just a (long) oneshot about Sam and Cas because I maintain the belief that despite their ridiculously low amount of scenes together they are close friends! Anyway this is kind of analytical of that, hope you like it!**

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**Title → **Trepidation & Camaraderie

(Trepidation- unease, nervousness; foreboding) (Camaraderie- friendship, companionship; solidarity)

**Author → **Kaiya

**Fandom →** Supernatural

**Characters →** Castiel; Sam Winchester; Dean Winchester

**Pairings → **Canon pairings; background Dean Winchester/Castiel

**Summary →** _They say the eyes are like windows to the soul_. Cas smiles faintly because for whatever reason the words have always made him think of Sam. Long oneshot, mostly central to Sam and Cas' friendship, but with background Dean/Cas.

**Word Count → **5526

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_The eyes are like windows to the soul._

The first time Castiel hears this phrase he's confused. Then again, being a soldier in the army of heaven doesn't leave much room for in-depth knowledge of human proverbs. It's just something Anna says to him in passing anyway; after being her second in command for so long he's stopped questioning her fascination with humanity and all its quirks. Besides, if he doesn't question her about it, he finds it easier to pretend he doesn't share her interest. He can pretend the two of them don't sometimes spend their free time just _watching _the people on Earth, discussing them, forming an actual bond that goes further than 'brothers-in-arms' like all the rest of Cas' relationships. She actually feels like a sister to him, instead of just someone he loves because God has made it so. When she leaves- _deserts _heaven_-_ Cas feels something for the first time. _Abandonment_. _Personal betrayal_. But he moves on because he's a soldier**,** and there are wars to be fought. He pretends it doesn't matter to him, throws himself into the service of his superiors**,** and not many people are surprised when he's made head of the garrison almost as soon as Anna falls.

(In quiet solitude he notes bitterly that it's a lot easier to forgive than it is to forget.)

_The eyes are like windows to the soul._

He hears it again one night when he and Uriel are keeping an eye on the Winchesters. The other angel has been straining for a chance to turn Sam Winchester to dust. It's the main reason Castiel hasn't allowed him direct interaction with either brother at this stage. He needs Dean to trust him, that's essential to whatever master plan Zachariah and the Archangels have for the brothers, and there's no way in hell he'll cooperate with Castiel if an angel even tries to lay hands on his little brother. So until it's absolutely necessary for him to be anything else, Uriel is a silent observer. Which is all well and good in theory, but it was really too much to hope for that he'd stick to the _silent_ part of the order.

"Look at him," Uriel seethes, glowering at Sam in obvious disgust. Castiel sighs and raises his eyes wearily towards home. The boy isn't even doing _anything _remotely evil, or dark, or whatever else he's been telling himself is the right path. As far as they know**-** which they do**-** he hasn't even spoken to the demon in weeks.

When Castiel grants him no reply, Uriel continues. "These humans, they say the eyes are like windows to the soul, don't they? Why then can they not see that his eyes are blank and empty?"

They're not even _hunting_ for God's sake. They're just sitting in their motel room, drinking beer and playing poker like normal, non-supernaturally-implicated brothers. Dean is visibly happier than he is most of the times Castiel has watched him; obviously for all he claims to love hunting as much as breathing, he cherishes these moments of normality with his brother just as much- probably more. Sam, for his part, is blank-faced but definitely more relaxed than usual as he lays down his cards.

Uriel doesn't seem to share Castiel's views. "I can practically _taste _the evil in his veins. Why does his brother not suspect him more? We were told Dean Winchester was particularly astute at sensing evil."

Castiel does not look at his brother as he gives the same response he gave yesterday. "We have no proof that Sam Winchester is participating in any ungodly activities at the current time."

"Proof?" Uriel sneers. "His very _blood _is ungodly, Brother. What more proof could you possibly desire?"

"_Proof_," Castiel says firmly, "that he is _willingly _engaging in demonic activity."

"His blood-" Uriel says again. This time Castiel doesn't let him finish.

"_Enough_," he growls. Uriel looks angry but obediently falls silent.

Castiel gestures towards the brothers. "Look at this scene closely, Uriel," he instructs, "and tell me what you see."

Uriel doesn't even spare the Winchesters a glance. "I see your charge- the _last hope for heaven_- associating with an abomination and having no apparent plans to neutralise the threat."

"No," Castiel says, "that's what you _feel_, what your grace detects. Tell me what you _see_, as though you're looking from the perspective of an outsider. Imagine for a moment that you have no idea who either of them are or what's inside them. Just describe the _image_."

Reluctantly, Uriel admits what Castiel knows he'd give anything not to. "Two brothers, playing poker in a motel room."

"See?" Castiel affords his brother a faint smile. "Maybe that's all this is."

Uriel snorts derisively. "That's how this _appears_. There's a reason we have our grace, Castiel, to _sense _what lies beneath the deception."

Castiel shrugs. "Perhaps there are times when the true deception is what our grace perceives; perhaps that clouds our judgement. Sometimes it could be better to look from a different perspective."

"You don't really believe that, do you?"

"I _believe _that what will come, will come, and listening to you sharing your personal opinion of Sam Winchester _every day_ is not going to influence the future any more than it is going to interest me."

Uriel scowls. "Your soft spot for humanity has always been a weakness. Nothing good will come of it, Castiel."

"And yet," Castiel counters, losing patience, "it was _I _who was made head of this garrison after Anna, though you seemed _certain _that my 'soft spot for humanity' made you the obvious candidate." The words come out in Castiel's tone of authority, the one he uses to command the garrison. "You are dismissed. _Go_."

Uriel doesn't reply. He's gone in a furious flutter of wings before Castiel has a chance to say more.

An hour later, Sam Winchester is tipsy and giggling, and Dean's eyes are lighting up with laughter for the first time in weeks as his little brother makes some ridiculous comment.

(A few months later, Uriel is dead and Cas is thinking that maybe there's a lot more good in Sam Winchester than there is evil.)

(He doesn't even _try _to figure out when he stopped being Castiel and started being Cas.)

_The eyes are like windows to the soul._

Sam's furious, and Cas doesn't need to look at him to know that. Furious, terrified, and utterly miserable; _so close _to giving up but holding on for Dean. Dean**,** who isn't here right now, who just took off in the Impala going God knows where (that's a lie, they know _exactly _where he's going). Dean**,** who Sam has unshakeable faith in, who Sam will _always _have unshakeable faith in, no matter what the elder brother does or says. Dean**,** who they both knew was fast approaching the tipping point but who they never really believed would turn like this. But he did turn, and now they're alone in a motel room, Sam and Cas, waiting for long enough that Dean will at least _think _they have no idea where he's going.

Cas thinks maybe he should say something, or at least offer some kind of consolation to Sam, but he doesn't know where he should start. He does know a little about what Sam's feeling- after all, he was essentially just abandoned by his own father- so when Dean abandoned them last night to go say the big _yes _to Michael, yeah, Cas kind of knows how that feels. Dean was Sam's stone number one, his reason for fighting, and now he's given up. God was Cas' stone number one, and he's made it pretty damn clear he's sitting this one out. 'This one' applying to any portion of the future that happens to occur.

It takes him so long to come to this conclusion that Sam speaks before he does.

"Do you miss them?"

Cas' head is still throbbing a little from the aftereffects of his angry 'God-doesn't-care-so-why-should-I?' bender, so it takes him a moment to process the words. Even then he's confused.

"Who?"

Sam nods towards the ceiling. "Y'know…" he says. Cas can tell he's trying to sound casual but he's not doing too great a job of it, because his voice is shaking like he's barely keeping it together**,** and Cas makes the connection, realises was Sam is really asking. _You betrayed your family, too. Do you miss them as much as I do?_

"_Heaven_?" Cas asks incredulously. Sam nods, dragging his teeth over his lower lip like he's uncertain, but the look in his eyes is cryptic. _Unreadable_. This is where Sam gives Cas an unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach. The angel prides himself on being able to sense emotions, maybe just because of his leftover grace, but it's as though Sam is on another level of existence. Where Dean hides behind snark and humour and loud rock music and ends up building an entire façade that anyone who knows him can see straight through anyway, Sam is different. Sam is careful; he shrouds himself in humanity like a fog, trusting openly but not completely, _never _completely. There's only two main faces of Dean: there's Dean Winchester, the hunter, and there's Dean Winchester, the loyal, complicated big brother, lover, son who will stop at nothing to protect his family until he can't bring himself to keep fighting anymore. There are so many versions of Sam that sometimes it's impossible to even begin to know him. And this version, this empathetic, silently devastated human being who's essentially just lost the one person he depends on the most, is asking Cas for _his _perspective on heaven. Without bias, without any judgement whatsoever in spite of the fact that it's heaven that's stolen his brother.

So Cas doesn't answer the question. Instead, he watches Sam curiously for a moment before speaking.

"You puzzle me, Sam Winchester. More than anyone else I've encountered in the past millennia, at least."

Sam looks mildly taken aback. "Err….sorry, I guess?"

"For what?"

Sam opens his mouth to speak, but then seems to change his mind and instead opts for shrugging and looking down at the ground, shuffling his feet awkwardly.

"Never mind," he mutters finally.

Cas is baffled. "Being fascinating is nothing to be ashamed of," he tells Sam. "I just meant that you…I just…" he makes a frustrated gesture in the air with one hand. "We knew, in heaven- or we thought we did- what you were. From the beginning, we knew you were the…what was it that Uriel used to say? The…the Boy-King of Hell."

"Ha," Sam mutters under his breath. He seems to have caught on, now, because he shoots Cas a sideways glance and supplies, "or the, uh, what did you say that time? The first thing you ever said to me?"

Cas sighs again, closing his eyes as Sam continues, though they both know what he's going to say.

"The boy with the demon blood. Nice. Really."

Sam's eyes are a little moist now, but he doesn't say anything else, so Cas thinks maybe _he_ should.

"I'm sorry." It's all he can think of and not nearly enough, but he says it anyway because he's suddenly filled with this _need _to make things right. To make Sam feel that he isn't worthless, that there are still people who care about him, even if Sam doesn't want anyone to give two shits about him. As with Dean, it's probably a hopeless case, but even one little _I'm sorry _hasto count for something, right?

They're quiet for a moment.

"So do you?" Sam asks him softly. "Miss them, I mean."

Cas blinks at him twice, slowly, and is fully intent on answering with a no right up until the moment his mouth decides to form a different set of words.

"Yes," he murmurs. "Yeah, I do miss them."

Now that Sam has the information, it seems like he has no idea what to do with it. He nods slowly and Cas, taking pity on him, decides to elaborate.

"I can still hear them, sometimes," he says quietly. "But most of the time it's just…_so quiet_. And I _want _to be hate them for all of this, I do, but I just…"

One corner of Sam's mouth turns up. Eyes empathetic. _Understanding_. "I know," he replies. "You resent them and you'll spend a lot of time wishing like hell you could forget about them. But you need them, don't you? Or, part of you does, at least."

It rings truer than Cas could have predicted. He's half-tempted to take off, to just disappear and come back in the morning with Dean in tow, but he _promised Sam _he wouldn't go anywhere tonight**,** and if Dean can't keep promises, if _God _can't keep a simple promise, then Cas supposes that _someone _besides Sam should show a little decency. So he answers Sam's grim smile with one of his own and- though he knows Sam won't be able to tell- curls one wing around the younger Winchester.

"You still don't trust me, do you?" Sam asks him suddenly. When Cas stares at him incredulously, he falters and hastily amends. "Because…I mean, because of all that 'purity of heaven versus my tainted demonic being' crap."

Cas isn't sure what brought this on, but Sam looks like he's already accepted the answer he expects, so he shrugs, aiming for the nonchalance both Winchesters are so talented at displaying.

"It's complicated," he says. "You have to understand that one of the most prominent orders I had was _don't trust Sam Winchester_."

It's not quite true; well, yes, that was one of Cas' orders, and it was a pretty damn important one at that. But the main reason Cas is _still _having doubts about trusting Sam is because of Sam's intensity, his _goodness._ It brings a whole new literality to the saying 'too much of a good thing can be a bad thing'. Sam's goodness made him willing to sacrifice everything to stop the Apocalypse- including the common sense that would have kept him from trusting Ruby. And, of course, Cas is _terrified _by the lengths Sam will go to, especially in regards of protecting Dean or saving him. That's the main issue right now. But he doesn't say any of that, even though he's fairly sure Sam knows _exactly why _Cas has so much trouble trusting him.

(Actually, some days he thinks there's a good chance that Sam knows more about it than he does himself.)

_The eyes are like windows to the soul._

The next time it crosses his mind it's twisted so bitterly out of context that he almost laughs at the jolt of pain it sends through him. _Pain_. Emotion. He'd almost worried that the ability to feel would fade once his grace had returned- but he'd never been that lucky. And how could he not have seen it before? _The eyes are like windows to the soul_.

(Sam's eyes have been cold and empty since the second Cas pulled him out of hell.)

His reasons for wanting Sam's soul to stay out of his body are far less selfish than his reasons for overwhelmingly _wanting Sam back_. He wasn't lying when he said his bond with Sam isn't as strong as his bond with Dean, but really the only _major_ difference is in the physical intimacy of the relationship. At least, that's how it was in the weeks before Sam jumped into the pit. Now, since he's been back, Sam is different- and Cas finally knows why.

(He can't believe it took him this long to figure out.)

After that**,** he avoids the Winchesters as much as he can. He can't bear the emptiness in Sam's gaze any more than he can the hurt and the constant weariness in Dean's. The older brother is tired, he knows, and more than a little angry that Cas is displaying so little interest in rescuing the younger from the jaws of the devil. _If only you knew_, Cas thinks bitterly as Dean takes out some of his frustration on him.

"You know, I've been tryin' to figure this out, man," Dean exclaims. "You say you're against re-souling him because you want to protect him, but how is leaving him to burn in hell _protecting him_?"

"Dean…" Cas begins, but he trails off. He knows it's no use.

"And don't, _don't you dare _say that's him out there," Dean snaps, gesturing out the window to where Sam is shooting bottles with inhuman precision. "Because it's not. It's _not_."

Cas lets his gaze soften. "Dean, I know," he says quietly. Dean stares at him.

"Well then**,** what the hell is wrong with you?"

Cas brings one of his wings up to wrap around Dean (Dean can see them, Dean has always been able to see them since they started this twisted, painful thing between them) and pulls him closer.

"I'm a soldier, Dean," he murmurs. "In the middle of a war. My mindset is logical. I can't allow what I want to come in the way of practicality in any situation or there's a chance I'll slip up in heaven as well."

Dean nods, and _thank God_ he drops the subject of Sam for once. "So, uh…" he says, a small smile playing at the corner of one mouth. "Sleeping with me, that's just an entirely practical situation, huh?" And _fuck, _they haven't even acknowledged that since Dean spent his year with Lisa and Ben.

But Cas smirks anyway, letting himself fall back into the old pattern. "Of course," he replies, straight-faced. "It allows me to…take a break from the active warzone and fulfil my vessel's physical needs."

Dean raises an eyebrow. "Right…" he says like he doesn't believe it for a second.

"It's true," Cas insists, chuckling in spite of himself. He brings his other wing around Dean's shoulders as well. "It's just a bonus that this particular practicality is something that I irrevocably want, too."

Dean rolls his eyes and pulls him in for the first time since a few days before Sam jumped, and Castiel lets himself forget about the war for just a little while.

(It's harder to forget about Sam, burning in hell.)

Sam wakes up on a Thursday, with his soul firmly back in place and Death's hell-wall working at full capacity. Cas is so relieved to see him awake that he forgets what Dean said about not jogging the memories. He tells Sam everything he wants to know. Afterwards he reasons that it's not as though he'd have been able to resist Sam's pleading gaze anyway, if he'd actually tried. Dean will be pissed, but having everything in the open will be better in the long run, anyway.

When Cas is trapped in holy fire, looking at the betrayed, hurt, angry faces of his family, he decides that maybe having everything out in the open doesn't feel so great after all.

(Sam nearly cries when he finds out it was _Cas _who left his soul in the Cage. He looks tortured by the thought. _The eyes are like windows to the soul_.)

He'll never forgive himself for breaking Sam's wall- _never_.

The only reason he really does it in the first place was because he needs to distract Dean, and he can't handle the pain in Sam's eyes. He knows that the younger Winchester is trying to stop him from repeating his own old mistakes, but Sam doesn't understand that Cas is _stopping _the Apocalypse, not restarting it.

He should have known better, really. After all, wasn't Sam _stopping _the Apocalypse when he killed Lilith?

After that everything is a repetitive blur of _mistake, compensate, make things worse, give up, betrayal, mistake and try to compensate again_. He loses track of what's really going on until he hears the last thing he expected.

(The second last. The last thing he'd have expected would be to hear Dean saying 'it's okay, I forgive you.' And that's not something he thinks he's ever going to hear again.)

"Cas?"

_Sam?_

It's not possible. He must be delusional; the Leviathans writhing inside him making him hear things. He shakes his head to clear it and everything fades out for a few seconds.

"I still think you're one of us."

_What?_

"Deep, deep down and _way _off the reservation."

_Of course_, Cas realises. _Sam will never give up on any of us, because Dean will never give up on Sam._

Sometimes Cas wonders if Dean realises how much his little brother still idolises him. He doubts it. But he doesn't ponder it now as he realises that he's only got one option left right now. And he hates it, he really does, because he doesn't deserve anything after all that he's done, but he needs to do this for them, for Dean.

(And for Sam. For the one true _friend _he has left.)

He goes to them. He asks for help. Sam's eyes are clouded with agony, and exhaustion, and fear and every unimaginable memory of the horrors he experienced at the hands of Michael and Lucifer (because of him, because Cas was too much of a coward to admit that he'd failed). But there's still a faint light flickering there, a beacon of warmth and welcoming, and Cas knows that Sam has already forgiven him.

(He hates himself for it.)

_The eyes are like windows to the soul_.

Emanuel feels a strange jolt when Daphne says those words. He feels like he's heard them before, in another life. Like they mean something, or everything, but he doesn't really know. He assumes that it's just one of those strange things that brings back a vague feeling of whoever he was before he became Emanuel. Like the way he felt unexplainable tears sting his eyes when the local priest said 'our Lord God watches over us all, and protects us, and forgives us' at a Sunday sermon. Or the way he was inexplicably down for a week when he read the death announcement of some salvager (_Ronnie? Robert?_) who was shot in the head a few months earlier. Or the face that haunts him sometimes when he's wishing he could sleep, that broken, beautiful man looking so _personally betrayed_ as he stares at Emanuel relentlessly.

(When the man shows up at his door a week later he doesn't say anything to Daphne. He never told her about him, anyway- the memory, if that's what it was, felt too fragile, too personal to share.)

After that everything is a blur of flashbacks and hallucinations of hell, and the rapid descent into insanity only to be snapped back out of it just in time for everything to spiral further out of control. Their lives fade back into a distorted haze of one disaster after another and it's nearly five years before the dust settles enough to let Cas ponder the trivial things again.

They never settle down, the three of them. Cas thinks maybe the brothers would have liked to- maybe they still do- but circumstances never really permit it, and by this point Sam and Dean have accepted that they probably never will, either. They've got their bunker now, which is as good a home as either of them ever hoped for, and they make do and keep each other fighting. Cas doesn't stay and live with them. They offer, of course- Sam with a tired smile and Dean with a wink and a lurid remark about memory foam- but he knows the Winchesters, he knows that the way they need each other goes beyond just needing to be around each other. They need to be around _only _each other. They've been all they have for so long that they've forgotten how to share. Cas is lucky there was enough of Dean left for him that wasn't part of Sam; that the brothers allowed him into even the top layers of their family, so Cas doesn't want to press his luck and intrude on them.

The words cross his mind again one night, while he's sitting on a quiet bluff, watching the stars and trying not to think about heaven. _The eyes are like windows to the soul. _He smiles faintly because for whatever reason the words have always made him think of Sam, and he wasn't planning on taking up his usual vigil outside their door, but he's struck by the sudden, irrepressible need to see the younger Winchester, so he takes a breath and then takes his leave from the bluff.

It's a cold night. Dean's back home at the bunker, _not sick_, and Sam's working a job two states over on his own after a tip from some hunter whose name Cas doesn't know or care about. They don't mean anything to the angel as he stands outside, reaching out with his grace to reassure himself that Sam is alive and well behind the door but not going in; neither brother knows how afraid Cas is that one day he'll show up and they'll turn him away, like heaven did, like his father did, like _they have before_. That's a feeling that will never go away, not completely, just like how Dean will never quite be able to see his own self-worth as much as he values that of others.

(Just like how Sam is probably never going to fully, completely trust anyone but Dean for the rest of his life. He's been betrayed and torn apart by the others too much for unconditional faith to ever be in the cards again, beyond the big brother that Cas thinks maybe he still secretly hero-worships.)

Soft footsteps bring Castiel back to the present. He turns his head ever-so-slightly, glancing behind him out of the corner of his eye for a second; he's rewarded with the sight of a familiar figure standing there, bathed in moonlight.

"You're here." There's no surprise in Sam's voice; he's merely acknowledging the fact. Turning around completely, Cas looks up into his friend's eyes. It's remarkable, really, that there's still a spark of hope there, even after everything. Most people would have lost that by now- but there's still light (albeit dim light) shining through the tired, world-weary gaze. Sam even manages a faded impression of his old grin; it's too late for anybody but Dean to fully bring out that surprised, light-hearted cheerfulness, but he tries for Cas because that's just who he is. It makes Cas ashamed of his own hopelessness, and for a moment the angel feels the urge to just leave; leave now and not have to face how jealous he is of the unchangeable _good _in Sam's soul. But he senses that neither he nor Sam would feel any better for it, so he resists the temptation and speaks.

"I come most nights," he says. "Whenever I can afford to be here."

"I know," comes the soft reply. "I don't really…sleep that much, these days, y'know?"

Cas nods. They lapse into silence for a few minutes.

"Why are you here, Cas?" Sam asks finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "I mean, I'm sure there's something else you'd rather be doing than spending your nights outside a motel room door."

A brief smile ghosts across the angel's face. "It's…strange, really, but even after everything, I feel that I should...watch over you and your brother, ensure that you are safe."

That gets him a short, slightly worn-out breath of laughter, at least.

"Yeah?" Sam asks him, a smirk playing around the corner of his mouth. "Well, you don't _have_ to watch over me from out here, you know. Actually _coming in_ _for a beer_ won't kill you."

"Thank you," Cas says, because he _still _doesn't know what to do with Sam's incessant kindness. Fortunately, that seems to do the trick. Sam nods, pleased enough with the response, but he doesn't say anything else until he looks at Cas again a few minutes laterto discover the angel is still staring at him quizzically.

Sam tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes uncertainly. "What?"

Cas sighs, trying to think of a way to pose his question without offending the younger Winchester, and for all that Sam is meant to be the open one, approachable Winchester, he can't help but think that _this is so much easier with Dean_.

Finally, he decides that Sam knows him well enough to understand he doesn't mean offence, and just speaks his mind, repeating a statement from a lifetime ago; back when they were hoping to end a war rather than waiting with a sigh for the next one to begin.

"You puzzle me, Sam Winchester."

This time, Sam genuinely smiles at him. Still not _happy_, necessarily, but sincerely enough that Cas knows he's gotten the message across.

"Thanks, Cas," he says quietly; so _quietly_, not quite a whisper, but like he's too exhausted and Cas' words have ignited a spark of nostalgia that makes it hard to speak.

"You should get some sleep, Sam," Cas says, _almost_ gently, nodding towards the door.

Sam looks like he's going to argue, but at the last second he changes his mind and nods with _another _half-smile, and God, that should probably feel awkward but it's just the way they've always been. _Mutual agreement. Mutual understanding. Mutual cause. _And then one day they woke up and it wasn't _we're fighting on the same side of this war_, anymore. It was _Sam is my friend_. So now when Sam's heading away without so much as a _goodnight_, Cas doesn't even stop to wonder if he's said something wrong. If he'd said something Sam didn't agree with, Sam would be arguing, or at least explaining his point.

Sam pauses in the doorway, though.

"I knew, you know," he says, like it's something he's wanted to get off his chest for a long time. "That you didn't just mistrust me because heaven said so."

Cas should feel a little wary about that, about his suspicions being confirmed, but he's not. He's just relieved that everything can finally be out in the open.

"You scared me a little," he admits. "I was so used to being able to read Dean and being able to at least have some clue with other people. But you…" he makes the same vague gesture he'd made all those years ago outside that motel room. "Most days I _still _don't know what you're thinking. Or feeling**.** It…"

"Puzzles you?" Sam looks a little amused, one eyebrow quirked, _teasing_. "Believe me, Cas. I know why you didn't trust me. Just like I know that now you do. And honestly, that's all there is to it."

Cas still isn't convinced, and Sam can obviously tell, because he takes the two steps back towards the angel.

"Look, man," he says, oddly calm. "I get it, okay? I'm not the easiest guy to trust, especially the side of me you'd seen up to that point. So just forget it, alright?" He claps Cas on the shoulder briskly and then he's going back into the room again. But there's one more thing, now, one question Sam has sparked in the angel's mind.

"So why did you lie? If you knew _then_, that that was why. Back in that motel room you said you assumed it was because of heaven."

Sam turns around and stares at him from the doorway, looking just as surprised at the question as Cas feels. After a moment, though, he answers anyway.

"I didn't _want_ you to trust me."

Cas tilts his head to one side, not understanding. "Sam, you-"

Sam elaborates with a small sad smile and a dispirited, one-shouldered shrug. "It's simple, isn't it? I liked you, Cas." He sighs. "You weren't obsessed with controlling me. It was…refreshing. So I couldn't let you trust me. The ones who trusted me, they- they always end up getting hurt."

Cas has lived for thousands of years, witnessed the rise and fall of empires and watched humanity grow from the beginning, but for all the battles he's fought, even all these people, these key milestones in his life- Anna, Uriel, _Dean_- hell, even Meg probably counted as a friend to him, in the end- and standing here, in the cool night air, hearing Sam Winchester basically admit that he'd pushed Cas away because he thought it would _protect him_, this is the most speechless the angel has ever felt. He opens his mouth to say something, to say _anything_, but nothing comes out so he just closes it again.

Sam doesn't smile, this time. He just meets Cas' eyes, looks right into them, like he's staring into his…well, his soul, if angels had them. _The eyes are like windows to the soul._

One more nod, two more quiet words. "Goodnight, Cas," and Sam is gone, not bothering to leave the door open because if Cas wants to come in he won't use the door anyway. The latch clicks shut softly and the glow of the light disappears after a moment.

(Cas is standing vigil outside the room for a lot longer than that.)

* * *

**So what do you think? Let me know! Flames will be ignored and then redirected to Metatron's inbox!**

**~ Kaiya ~**


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